So, here's the next chapter of Last Moments. It's Niall's POV. There isn't much I have to say about this chapter for fear of spoiling, except for the usual: Please REVIEW! I'm still indecisive about the story's length, so reviews help me think about the progression of the story and on general opinion.
On that note, I don't own Wicked Lovely. But I loves me some Nirial!
When Niall awoke, Irial was still asleep in bed as he had been before; his head resting uneasily against the Victorian pillows behind him, his hands folded neatly over his torso. His skin almost cadaverous.
Like a corpse. Bile rose in Niall's throat as he considered what that meant for Irial, considered the unthinkable pain he would face were Irial to perish. And as much a Niall didn't want to think about those grimly possibilities, he had no choice.
Despite the short-lived peace they'd found in their dreams, Irial still looked sickly and unwell. He wore a deathly pallor as he slept, his pale skin flushed with the sweat of a fever, his brows pinched as if he were in pain. Hollowing cheeks jutted from an otherwise stunning face.
The poison, whatever it may be, was slowly eating away at him, slowly making him weaker by the hour. And Niall knew that it would be only a matter of days before he'd be alone.
Without Iri.
Niall shook his head, unwilling to think about life without his former King, unwilling to entertain the thought of Irial gone. He simply would not have it. With resolve, he sat upright, his gaze drifting to the faery lying beside him.
I will find a way to fix him.
Niall stood up softly, so as not to wake him, and reached for the basin of water at Irial's bedside. It had become a habit of his to dampen the cloth and run its coolness over Irial's face, hoping to ease the fever.
Niall focused on Irial's steady, but slow heartbeat as he wrung out the wet cloth, acutely aware of the life it emitted, no matter how small.
For many moments, that was all that Niall heard; the sound of dripping water as he dipped the cloth into the basin and Irial's gentle, reassuring heartbeat. The melody of both is what kept Niall sane- the repetition. Dip, remove, wring, repeat. The temporary reprieve the mantra gave his mind since Irial had fallen ill was something to be worshipped.
Except in the waning candlelight, Niall found himself crying instead of rejoicing, dripping black tears into the clear, crystal bowl. Forced to look at his desolate reflection.
Black, inky eyes stared back at him, reminding him of his weakness, reminding him of how selfish he was being when there was a true martyr resting beside him. He had no right to cry when Irial was the one who was obviously in pain, who had willingly taken the blade of another as a sacrifice.
Who was Niall? His distraught lover who had yet to find him a cure for his sickness. Who had gotten no real sleep within the past week for fear of waking up without his beloved.
Distressed, Niall dropped the cloth into the water, afraid to see how lost he'd become in the reflection of a small bowl. Stepping away fearfully, he was startled when Irial's strong, but quiet voice interrupted him.
"Niall, are you alright?"
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Niall approached the former King's bed. "You should rest, Irial. You need your strength. Worry not about me."
Irial turned his head away, his dark eyes glaring with what little strength he had. "Do not tell me to do that. You are all that I worry about."
Niall shook his head, unwilling to argue with Irial over the subject. "Will you just let me take care of you?" he sighed. "I cannot simply watch you waste away."
Irial's tired, overlarge eyes met his, as if seeing into his soul. "Niall, what is done cannot be undone. Despite what you may think, I regret nothing."
Fighting back the tears in his voice, Niall said, "Why must you be a martyr, Irial? Do you not think that you deserve a life?"
"I've lived many lives, Niall, some of which I am not proud of, but I don't regret my decisions. I cannot." Then his eyes softened as he took in Niall's barely-steady form. "Some of them led me to you."
As Niall stared into Irial's sadly resolved, yet sincere face, he felt a piece of himself break. Instead of responding, Niall closed his eyes and stroked the former Dark King's cheek, allowing the softness of his fingers to soothe Irial's feverish skin.
Irial turned his face toward Niall's palm, his logy eyes staring up at him with a gratitude that Niall did not deserve. Beads of sweat coated Niall's thumb as he traced Irial's mouth.
Then, Irial let out a breath and lowered his eyelids, his black lashes brushing just above his cheekbone. "You will be an excellent king, Gancanagh. And you will lead them down the right path."
Despite the numbing pain in Niall's chest after Irial had spoken his fears aloud, Niall didn't let it show- Couldn't. He resumed the soothing stroke of his fingers, resumed counting the innumerous lashes that rested on Irial's pallid cheeks, even though tears welled in his own eyes.
And when he leaned down to kiss his beloved on the crest of his forehead, Niall knew he was kissing him goodbye.
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